


Hang the Moon

by Venivincere



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-25
Updated: 2011-09-25
Packaged: 2017-10-24 00:53:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/257026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Venivincere/pseuds/Venivincere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin understands. Truly, he does. But he's never been one to easily suffer Arthur's boiling anger and accusative silence when it’s deserved.  This time around, it’s so very richly deserved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hang the Moon

It isn't often that Merlin decides he's going to help out in the kitchens, or assist the launderers, or even once (memorably) attempt to mend clothing with the castle seamstresses. But sometimes -- sometimes, when he's swept the ashes from Arthur's grate, hung the still-clean clothes back in the garderobe, straightened and swept and polished until all the surfaces gleam and Arthur's chambers smell of vinegar and herbs, and Arthur _still_ hasn't spoken a word -- he just has to get out.

Merlin understands. Truly, he does. But he's never been one to easily suffer Arthur's boiling anger and accusative silence when it’s deserved. This time around, it’s so very richly deserved. It's even harder because it's been two months, and the silence and avoidance and Arthur's angry, betrayed face haven't lessened one jot. He hasn't indulged illusions since he was a child, but if he did, Merlin would attribute it to Arthur's growing upset at Uther's decline, and to the increasingly chaotic political landscape and the ever-more-complicated twists of Morgana's betrayal. But Merlin can't, and he won't. And he still doesn't know what to do about it. He's beginning to think he may have made a mistake.

Merlin's slowly wilting. He can't hide a secret to save his life, not unless it has to do with his and Arthur's destiny or Arthur's safety, or anything to do with Arthur, really ( _except the magic, except the magic_ and Merlin swallows the lump in his throat once again), and so Merlin's burgeoning sadness doesn't go unnoticed by anyone who cares even a scrap for him. The cooks, the laundresses, the seamstresses silently welcome his unschooled aid. They chatter around him, let him bathe in their everyday good cheer, but don't press him to join in. Gaius sends him outside the castle for herbs, knowing the soothing, healing effects of the fresh forest air and the hearty, sustaining baked-grass scent of the ripe grain fields will soothe and distract him for an hour or two.

Yet _Arthur knows, Arthur knows_ echoes in Merlin's head, no matter what he does to keep himself busy and out of Arthur's way. _He knows_ as Merlin runs down to the armoury for more polishing oil, _He knows_ as Merlin silently serves him at table, as Arthur yanks his chair out and bangs Merlin's thigh with the arm rest, with not a word of acknowledgement or apology. _He knows_ as Merlin turns down Arthur's bed and silently helps him out of his breeches and into his nightshirt. _He knows, and he isn't happy._

The Mabon festival’s long passed and Samhain approaches, and Merlin's searching his books and not finding a way to turn back time. There is nothing (there never is) and Arthur’s left training early to sit in the council chambers in his father's stead, so Merlin wanders down to the training fields and watches Arthur's knights as they strain and sweat and crash and shout; as they laugh and learn. Arthur's approbation shines on them like the sun and they grow together, thick and tangled and humid and full of colour, like trumpet vine and bittersweet. They break when the sun begins its descent into the wheaten gold of the late afternoon, and Merlin squires for them, fetching water and wine for washing and drinking, rags and polishing oil for their swords and armour, and the great boar-bristle brushes for scrubbing their mail. He works quietly as they talk and laugh around him. Merlin feels a comfort with them that he doesn't when he's with others. He is not a knight, but he has true friends among them and it's enough to help him lose track of time, to keep his mind on the banter and not on this thoughts, enough so that it takes Gwaine grabbing his hauberk and the rag out of Merlin's hands with a smile and, "You'd better get back to the princess, my friend," to get him to realise that it's almost gone dark and Arthur will be wanting his dinner.

And just like that, Merlin's had enough.

Anger blossoms and it's about all he can do not to fling open the door to the kitchens and let it crash into the wall when he goes to fetch Arthur's tray. He stomps through the corridors and up the stairs, _does_ fling open Arthur's chamber doors with a crash, and slams the tray on the table. Arthur's speechless, he usually is, but instead of anger and betrayal there is surprise written all over his countenance. Merlin ignores it, and grabs his arm.

"Arthur, you're coming with me."

Arthur splutters, trails off before he's said a word; Merlin feels a little jolt of _something_ , triumph, maybe, that he's managed to astonish Arthur, and doesn't even bother pushing magic at him to shut up, to come along. In the corridor, Arthur shakes off Merlin's arm, but he doesn't stop following. Down the corridor, past the main hall, out the doors and down the steps Merlin leads him, through the square and over the moat and around the back of the castle, and does not slow until they reach the field below.

Merlin looks to the sky and bellows, "Dragon! Immala!" and other words he's sure Arthur wouldn't recognise, but which Merlin understands as well as he understands his own bones and the magic that flows through them. He says nothing as Kilgarrah hangs heavy in the air in front of them and lands, as Arthur blanches and recovers with his boot-knife in his hand.

"It didn't work," says Merlin, staring up into Kilgarrah's great eye. He sniffles, and realises he's crying. He dashes the tears away with the back of his hand. "I told him about the magic, and it's tearing us apart. He won't speak to me. I fear for the future of Camelot. I fear for his--for _our_ destiny." And _damnation_ , the dragon ducks his head in the burgeoning moonlight and looks unhappy, and Merlin _hates_ this, this vulnerability, but he hates this rift with Arthur even more. "Please help me. Help _us_." Merlin can barely stand upright and look the dragon in the eye under the weight of Kilgarrah's pity.

The dragon sighs a great, warm gust. "Merlin, I am sorry. I can see your shared destiny. It is as I have told it to you. I have the power to do many things, young warlock, but it is not in my power to convince this child of man. I have said before that you are two sides of the same coin. You are the one he knows best, the one he trusts. If you cannot convince him, then I do not know who can."

"But that's just it," says Merlin. "He doesn't trust me. Not any more. He hasn't -- he hasn't spoken to me, he won't -- he won't even _look_ at me, _really_ look. I no longer know what's in his heart. And worse," Merlin gulps around the lump in his throat, "he doesn't know what's in mine."

The tears gather again, hot in the well of his eye, and he's choked, he can't say anything. What can he say, if Arthur won't listen?

"What destiny?" says Arthur through clenched teeth, and Merlin's eyes flash up at him. Arthur's staring up at the dragon, the boot-knife still tight in his hand.

"So you are the Pendragon heir," says the dragon, peering at him, examining him as though he could see right through the armour and into his heart.

" _What destiny_?"

"You, Arthur Pendragon, are the Once and Future King. You were called by the Old Magic to come into the world once again and unite all Albion under your rule. This is not a task you can accomplish alone. It never has been, and it shall never be. The Old Magic called you into this world and it has never abandoned you. You are not magic and cannot wield it, but you have always been and shall always be given a companion who is, and who can." The dragon dips his head toward Merlin.

Arthur glances at Merlin, angry and wary and just a little confused, then back up at the dragon.

"I have never thought of anything but keeping Camelot safe from its enemies," says Arthur. "To rule fairly, and to care for my people. That is the only destiny I know of. It is the only destiny I _want_. I am not a war monger that I want to conquer all Albion!"

"I did not say conquer!" thunders the dragon. "I said unite."

"Arthur--"

" _Shut up_ , Merlin," says Arthur, not even looking at him.

"No!" says Merlin, gritting his teeth and blinking the tears out of his eyes. "Arthur, think. I beg you. You must understand why I hid this from you. I told you as soon as I could. You rule in all but name, now. Your time is coming very soon. Think, Arthur. I trusted you enough to tell you now, even though you still could take off my head or burn me under your father's laws. The time is coming when you will need all of your resources to keep Camelot safe. You need me. I have always helped you, and I always will."

Arthur's face darkens as he listened to Merlin. "Because you believe it to be your destiny."

"Yes, because it's my destiny, and believe me, Arthur, you're prat enough that it took a long time for me to come to terms with that, but I have. And after all this time, and because I know you now, I know you to be good and noble and brave and strong and courageous, a warrior who understands the value of peace, because of that, because of our -- our friendship, I choose it, too.

"Arthur, I've been with you so long. I've stayed in spite of -- no, _because_ of everything. How could you ever think that I am here merely because of duty?"

Arthur stares at Merlin. Stares, and stares, then crouches down and runs his dagger through the moon-silvered grass. Merlin crouches next to him and waits.

"I wasn't -- I wasn't angry at you for not telling me," says Arthur.

Merlin gives a half-laugh, then swipes the back of his hand over his eyes. "Could have fooled me," he says.

Arthur sighs. "Merlin..." he begins, "when you told me about the magic -- about all you had done, about how you watched over me, helped me in battle... it humiliated me."

Merlin looks over at Arthur, sees his eyes gleaming in the moonlight, the gold of his hair damped down to silver. "Arthur, I never--"

"I know. I know that... now. But it galled me, thinking I was made a fool of." He cocks half a smile. "And by a fool, to boot." He nudges his elbow into Merlin's ribs, but then the smile falls from his face. "It pained me to think that after all my training, I needed help to survive. I am the Crown Prince of Camelot. It is my duty to lead my men in battle, to set the example. The whole time, all I could think was that my example was weak."

Merlin reaches between his knees and pulls up tufts of grass. "But Arthur... that's what you do when you love someone. You help them, any way you can. You love Camelot, and you protect her with everything you have and everything you are. I just... it is my destiny to protect you, but Arthur, Camelot's my home now, too. I... finally found a place where I fit in."

He looks up in time to find Arthur looking at him with a small, fond smile.

"I want to keep her safe and strong," Merlin continues. "By protecting you, I protect Camelot, as well." Merlin lets go of the grass and lays his hand on Arthur's knee. "This kind of love... it can only be a strength."

Arthur looks down at Merlin's hand resting on his knee. Merlin watches him drop the boot-knife and cover Merlin's hand with his own. "Love."

Merlin tries to ignore his heartbeat thudding heavy in his throat, and answers, "Yes."

"Dragon," says Arthur, never taking his eyes from Merlin's, "I do not know if I accept this destiny."

Merlin's thoughts run confused before the dragon answers, "Do not suffer your father's hubris by thinking you can do it alone, young Pendragon."

"I'm not alone," says Arthur, never taking his eyes off Merlin, "but I would like to be left alone to consider this destiny. Please leave us."

There's a puff of warm, sulphurous air, then a grumbled, "Very well."

Merlin doesn't see the dragon take flight; he's too busy being tackled by Arthur.

"Love."

"Yes," says Merlin, strained. "Your armour--" and he wonders why Arthur was wearing it at council until he remembers that he'd made himself scarce and therefore wasn't around to help Arthur take it off.

Arthur throws his head back and laughs. "I should have known that was innuendo!"

"No, you dollop head," says Merlin, struggling to move aside from under its painful press, "it's digging into me."

"You are such a girl," says Arthur, rolling off him.

They lie side by side, the moonlight on the horizon behind them, looking up at the stars. Merlin's heart is light enough to float up to them, if he let it.

"Can you see it?" asks Arthur. "Can you see how our destiny unfolds? Can you see a path to a united Albion?"

Merlin feels Arthur's hand stretch toward him and find his own; the hot clasp brands Merlin's fingers.

"I'm not a Seer," says Merlin. "I don't know anything beyond the treaty you're hammering out with the Earls in Cenred's old kingdom."

"It's a start."

"Perhaps. Even so, Arthur, I have faith. Faith in us. We _can_ unite Albion. You are strong. Your knights are strong. And Arthur," says Merlin, holding his hand out behind him, hearing Arthur gasp as his eyes glow gold, "I’m strong, too."

The moon glides quickly up the sky and hangs low and heavy above them. The man in the moon looks down and winks, and the breath whooshes out of Arthur's lungs.

Arthur stares upward as the breath floods back into his body. “Maybe after Albion,” he says, “we can unite the world.”

**Author's Note:**

> FULL POSTING HEADER:
> 
>  **Title:** Hang the Moon  
>  **Author:** Venivincere  
>  **Pairing:** Arthur/Merlin  
>  **Rating:** PG  
>  **Warnings:** None  
>  **Category:** Angst (resolves)  
>  **Word count:** 2,400  
>  **Summary:** Merlin understands. Truly, he does. But he's never been one to easily suffer Arthur's boiling anger and accusative silence when it’s deserved. This time around, it’s so very richly deserved.


End file.
